


Where Sky and Ocean meet, they´ll leave me breathless

by LittleDevil



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Amputation, Angst, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jaskier has no selfpreservation, Jaskier is on a mission to annoy someone into killing him, Jaskier suffers for the fandom, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Tissaia loves her strange hybrid son but is constantly worried, Unreliable Narrator, apart from that enjoy those two idiots, because I like torturing my characters but hey who doesnt, enter mister "i only communicate through grunts", no beta we die like monsters, only the comfort part comes much much later, please remember that english is not my first language and that my keyboard also hates me, this is gonna get sad, very very very unreliable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23158612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDevil/pseuds/LittleDevil
Summary: Jaskier is fairly certain that, were he a saner man, he wouldn´t follow Geralt around the continent. Partly because it´s fucking dangerous to accompany Geralt on his hunts. Partly because he actually is what Geralt hunts. But he isn´t a saner man, and really doesn´t care all that much about surviving anyway, so onward he goes. Even when his joint are aching, and his lungs are protesting. He really isn´t meant for walking... But Geralt is always waiting for him when he has a dizzy spell and well, whom is he kidding. He is in love with the man.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 199





	1. Of monsters and men

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened. I´m already terribly sorry for this in advance. It´s gonna get bad. Like terribly bad because we all know what happens in episode 6 and the here presented Jaskier already hates himself right from the beginning, so if you´re of the faint-hearted, or don´t like reading about him beating himself down again and again and again and again then this fic ist most certainly NOT for you.  
> I´m a firm believer of not making one´s recovery based on a relationship so that won´t happen. What will happen is: Jaskier alone and suffering before it gets better.  
> You have been warned.
> 
> Enjoy :D

Julian often wonders how on earth his parents had managed to fall in love, let alone what kind of deal had been struck so he could be conceived. They had been incompatible at the best at times, with her soaring the skies and him diving through the darkest depths of the ocean.He would love to hear that story, it would make for a remarkable song, if only he wasn't suffering for their love. But he can't ask them, for his father died allegedly by a witcher's hand, while his mother was killed by him, his otherness. She never even carried to term. It was only thanks to his Auntie, who´d cut him from his mother's dead body that he was even alive.

His Auntie, bless her beautiful golden feathers, didn't know then, why her nephew was so sickly, why his skin was always covered in burns, or his wings and feathers were so frail. Why he looked like a winged human and not a harpy. Or why in the name of the stars he had scales and gills. She knew however, when to consult with a mage. Her nephew may have come out slightly (more possibly more) wrong, but he was all that was left of her sister, so she gathered all her stolen dreams and flown to Arethuza to trade them for help.

There weren't too many mages willing to trade with harpies, even the more intelligent ones, but Tissaia de Vries was. 

Aunt Tissi, as he came to call her, doesn´t need long to figure out where the problem lies, and that his health problems originate from the incompatibility of his parents. It also doesn't take long for her to warm to him, sickly thing that he is, and she takes over the primary care, because for all his Aunties love, the other harpies do not understand her love for the deformed baby. He would not be safe there, nor free. Because even then it´s clear his wings will never carry his weight. His Auntie visits him regularly. Tissi gifts them both enchanted mirrors. When he is old enough, already middle aged by human standards, but he is a monster so it doesn't count and well, Aunt Tissi had been adamant about ensuring his survival “in the wild” after going through the trouble of keeping him alive for the last 40 years. Which, to be fair, had not been easy. But she teaches him everything, including how to use his magic or to make the remedies he needs for his overall health. His Auntie teaches him to preen his wings and his childhood is a happy one nonetheless. 

When he announces he is leaving Arethuza, Tissaia gifts him a charm that hides his magical aura. It's not perfect, but the best she can do, and she absolutely refused to amputate his wings, even if they're useless. She gives him a small fortune for his start in life. He's thankful, if a little flustered when she is waving him goodbye. 

For all her care, he still has trouble breathing or walking for any distances, so he travels along the coast, not least of all because he really needs the seaweed for his poultices, or that submerging his gills once a day is far easier when close to the sea.

He is longing to find a place for himself in this world, and sadly it's not in Arethuza or with his Auntie, so really all that's really left are the humans, even if he's never really gonna belong.

As he travels the coast he studies humans, because for all their human appearance, the mages of his homestead really couldn´t be called that. Humans, he finds, are strange and contradictory, sometimes nice other times absolutely horrible and he is glad for his however restricted magic. Illusion is a powerful device, and Julian is a virtuoso with it. And so he maneuvers himself into relative safety whenever something goes wrong, but unfortunately his luck doesn't last forever. 

He runs out of money eventually. It was bound to happen, for he hasn't found his calling just yet, and therefore has not earned anything. But he´s managing, for there is a strange magic living in a harpies freely given feathers, or so Aunti Tissi told him. Not that it really reflects on the price he manages to earn for the pain of pulling them out.

Then one stormy day in july, he hates that kind of weather, it was a hazard for his health he thinks he might have found his destiny. Upon entering the tavern there is music. Realistically Julian knew about music, but this, this is different from the stiff songs in Arethuza. It is pure joy and Julian loves it. Light and love and freedom. He never wanted to do something more than this in his life.

The next day, after having grilled the bard on what kind of education was necessary, he is headed to Oxenfurt. Despite his talent and dedication tuition still is expensive. Material is expensive. Musical sheets and instruments are worth small fortunes. His wings look more and more like that of a plucked chicken. Julian shivers and ignores them as best as possible, even when the skin chaffes and he needs to apply the healing seaweed salve more often that is usually necessary. He is only lucky, that Oxenfurt is located along the coast and he is never short in supply. Although the constant sun during the summer hurts his eyes and burns his skin.

His fellow bards scoff about his skincare. They think him vain. He nurtures that image.

His wings are scarred and completely naked by the time he finishes school. Asking Tissaia for money would have been an option, but she had already done so much for him and he doesn't want to be more of a burden than he already is and for anyone to treat him like he is special, like he needs help, like he is broken. He is broken, he knows that, but Julian refuses to be pitied.

The director of Oxenfurt offers him a tenancy as professor and he accepts on a whim.

Julian loves his students. They remind him a little of himself when he first heard music. The gleam in their eyes, the joy of composing and learning and he relishes in teaching them. Their thirst for knowledge is infecting and he learns beside them ever more and more. The loneliness is half forgotten. Not completely though. Never completely. Every time someone tries to get close he shuts them out.The only thing hiding that he is a monstrosity is his tightly wrapped glamour. But if anyone were to touch his back they´d notice and he can't afford that. Not after the lengths he and Aunt Tissaia went to to keep his ancestry a secret even from the mages in Arethuza.

And so he hides behind lies, creates a playboy image while he hunger for closeness, for contact. But anytime a hand so much as wanders to his shoulder he shies away.

Pleasure however, he finds out, does not require closeness. It doesn't even require for him to remove his clothes and expose his scale-littered skin. Doesn 't require for him to face his partners. And he is good with pleasure. Good with his mouth and tongue to approximately nobodies surprise.

Julian is 57 years old. He's been in Oxenfurt for 15 years when he realizes he needs to leave.

Too many of his colleagues have remarked upon his youthful appearance, wondering if his skincare routine, the one they all scoffed at, is responsible for not having aged a day since he arrived and claimed to be 18. So he packs his lute to travel. Says he wants to see the world. Doesn't say he already knows it. He has been stupid. He knows this. He should have adjusted his glamour accordingly, but he´d forgotten. Aunt Tissaia would raise a disappointed eyebrow if she knew.

He travels along the coast again, southward through Cidaris until he crosses into Cintra. For once he decides to travel land inward following the Yaruga. Cintrans hate magic, elves and everything not human. And he is decidedly even less human than even a ghoul, no matter if he is passing, no matter that he is heavily wards and cloaked against detection. Julian travels for years, ever lonely. It takes a toll.

He is bitter and his songs become darker. People don't like them, they´re not good, but he can't find it within himself to actually care. Everything seems so pointless anyway. Numb, that's what he is. The world has lost it´s wonder and more often than not he has to pluck his feathers out to buy food.

Julian is aware, that he is not well, not in the least, but with everything else that is wrong with him, it doesn't matter. He is bored out of his mind and the only thing that seems to even slightly lift his spirits anymore is annoying people. So he makes it an art form. For a little while it is enough.

Just when annoying humans into chasing him out of town (and boy does that feel like the right reaction to the likes of him) becomes boring and pointless too, Julian spots Him in a corner. It's the butcher of Blaviken and Julian thinks, has an epiphany, really. 

Maybe it would be fun to test this witcher. How long it takes him to realize that Julian is infact a monster that needs slaying. And if he is killed, well, there is not much keeping him in this world anyway. Later he will recognize his decision for what it is. Suicide by witcher. 

Right now he is just giddy with anticipation at the challenge to fool a witcher.

He ignores the remaining bread on the floor, and isn't that nice, they actually threw edible food this time, he approaches the man. Barely able to hide his excitement he leans on a beam and drawls the first words that come to mind, finding his motivation to irritate has flared up again.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and brood.”

Oh, yes sweet validation as the witcher stares at him with a dead look, annoyance clearly visible in the light twitch of his eyebrows. 

“I'm here to drink alone.”

“Good, yeah, good.” He ignores that bit, sitting down opposite.

“See, no one else hesitated to remark upon the quality of my performance, except…” he leans on the table right into the witcher's personal space. “…for you. Come on, don´t keep a man with .. “He looks down his body and smirks” … bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

The witcher stares blankly at him and Julian is about to admit defeat when he doesn't react at first because everything, every interaction, every task is draining and he is tired, oh so tired, when he sees, more than hears, the man answer.

“They don't exist.”

“What doesn't exist?” he asks dumbly, before being able to stop himself.

“The creatures in your song.” And here is his opening. His brain has worked faster than ever before in his life, because by the stars , he will latch onto this man, who has no idea he just as good as invited a suicidal bard along.

“And how would you know?” He gives him a chance to answer, and when unsurprisingly he doesn´t, he grins. “Oh wait. White hair, big old loner, two very…” his gaze shifts to the man's pack on the side of the table ”…very scary looking swords. I know who you are.” Perhaps he is enjoying this a little too much. No matter. He nearly has what he wants.

The witcher makes to get up and leave, and he can't have that, can he? So he gets up just as swiftly, with a flourish he has never possessed before in his life and never will again.

“You´re the witcher, Geralt of Rivia.” Geralt, the Witcher stiffens and Julian is delighted. “Called it.”

He is rewarded then for his effort, with a scowl, before a random man walks into their space, interrupting his next steps. There is a job to kill a devil that steals their grain, and oh boy, there are no devils, aunt Tissaias education was very thorough, but they´re close to Dol Blathanna and perhaps it´s the elves being slick or something. So he collects his things and scrambles after the witcher. 

  
  


Julian knows it's a _Bad Idea_ _**tm** _ , yet he doesn't care. Well, perhaps a little, because never can it ever get back to Aunt Tissaia, that he is traveling with Geralt of Rivia, the Butcher of Blaviken. Because that´ll leave no doubt about his mental state. She can never know, just like she can't know about the suicidal poems he published foliant-wise back in Oxenfurt under the name of Jaskier. And perhaps it's time to become Jaskier once again.

Jaskier half expects Geralt to speed up his mare when he shouts for him to wait. 5 years since he left Oxenfurt, five years of traveling by foot and he is still not used to it by now. His joints hurt, and he is out of breath. It's pitiful really, but what can he expect, when he shouldn't even be alive. 

“Need a hand? I got two, one for each of the devil's horns!” he exclaims, once he is able to breathe again. His shiny new plaything, namely the Witcher growls at him. “Go away.”

It's too easy really.

“I won't be, but silent back up.” And when Geralt doesn't answer he begins his spiel about real adventures and heroics, heartbreak, and whatnot. Tells him he could be his barker . He is drinking in every little piece of information this man carelessly gives. Like the way he stiffens when Jaskier mentions the Butcher part. Though, he doesn't expect the punch into his gut. Having hardly working lungs at the best of times he finds himself crumpled to the floor a hot second later, wheezing but not able to actually catch a breath for a few moments. The cracks he´s heard indicates that maybe a rip is damaged. Not that it´s the witchers fault. Jaskier has bird-bones just like any other harpy. As long as it's not split or worse splintered he is fine. 

This time he chooses not to jog to catch up and instead walk a little faster. Breathing still is hard, will always be. Jaskier is happy though. He is learning more about this man, who seems even more lonely than he is. 

Geralt, to his great surprise, actually stops twice for about five minutes before they reach the field, even throwing him an apple when Jaskier stomach growls loudly in hunger. There is a softness to his eyes as he regards his mare, patts her side and feeds her an apple too and Jaskier is instantly enchanted with him. He is idly talking about the area they're in, the stories the humans tell of why the elves were gone, all while he is wondering how anyone has ever thought that Geralt would actually butcher people just for the violence of it. They can't see past his gruff exterior, the one he has likely curated to protect himself from hurt. Perhaps they´re not so different, except that Jaskier actually is a monster. Just before they reach the field he speaks up, indicating that this is more than idle chatter.

“My name is Jaskier by the way. While I find it highly unlikely, given your penchant for communicating through grunts, that you´ll ever use it, It would be rather rude of me not to tell you.”

All he gets in response is a “Hmnn”.

Geralt fastens Roach, and who would name their beautiful mare Roach, to a tree and motions for him to stay back. Priding himself in never having ever done the smart thing in his whole life Jaskier follows him without delay. There is something hiding and Jaskier spots the Silvan immediately. Doesn´t save him from getting hit in the head though. To be fair, he's never been fast.

  
  


When he wakes up again he is alone, his wings bound to the chair he is chained to.

_ HIS WINGS BOUND?! _

Someone has seen through his glamour, it's hanging in shreds around him, he can feel the remains lingering and he is angry, because nobody can ever know what kind of monster he is. 

“Ah, you´re awake.” Not alone then.

There is an elf in the room, cavern or whatever they live in and he walkes into Jaskiers field of vision. 

“What reason could something like you possibly have to travel with a Witcher of all things?” the elf inquires before Jaskier has a chance to angrily demand what business he has to expose a man so. He feels more naked than ever before.

“Scholarly interest,” he grinds out. The Elf ment no slight, he knows that, but to be categorized by a fellow nonhuman as “thing” hurts. The Elf regards him with an unimpressed stare. “It´s suicide, but I think you know that.”

“Mind your own business, why don´t you!”, he snarls because no one likes to hear about truths they repress. It only earns him a raised eyebrow before the man continues.

“He asked me to let the “human” go and kill him instead.”

“Did you tell him?” Panic surges up his throat because, no, this is wrong. His gills are aching as his lungs strain to work. There is surprise in the elfs eyes with Jaskiers reaction.

“No. I didn't kill him either. I wanted your opinion first. Is he a good man? Would you put our lives into his hands, when you won't do it yourself?”

There is little humour for the situation left in Jaskier. Mainly bitterness.

“Well, that´s just unfair, given that you´re elves and not some kind of impossible monster-hybrid like me. He's got a soft heart and will treat you kindly, because you´re like him, not a monster, but shunned by humans nonetheless.” He makes a pause for maximum effect. “It's not like I have that luxury. So yeah, I would ask you to put your fate into his hands.”

The elf looks a little taken aback by this. Then pity sets in. Jaskier hates being pitied. “You should know that real monsters rarely see themselves as such.”

It's a nice sentiment, but that's all it is. A sentiment. Jaskier scoffs at him. “Sure.” 

The elf regards him with a blank face for a few more seconds before he huffs and starts to move.

“I´m letting you both go. Don´t make me regret it.” The ropes around his wings fall away and Jaskier stretches them, stumbling when he is finally able to stand up from the chair. He´ll never get used to the way their weight changes his center of gravity when he is moving then around. Before anything else he focuses and puts his glamour back together. Stronger this time and sealed double, so that no one can ever rip it away from him again. 

“I'm Filavandrel, formerly of the white towers. And I´m sorry for this treatment.” And because Jaskier was taught to be polite quite emphatically he replies with a bow.

“Julian Alfred de Vries of Arethuza, at your service.” Because Tissaia had given him much more than her love, time, money and magic. She has also given him a name. Hers. 

Filavandrel whistles. “How on this terrible, yet beautiful earth, if I may ask, is that even possible?”

And Jaskier tells him, because Filavandrel knows pain, same as him, and it's been ages since he actually talked to anyone. He understands.

“My friend, I´ll write a song that´ll make them leave you alone and think you gone. I'm afraid it's going to be terribly racist, but you know how humans are and it'll keep them off your back.”

“Do you want me to rough you up a bit before I reunite you with your Witcher?” Not HIS Witcher but nonetheless Jaskier smiles. “Yes, please.”

He's got a blackeye and a bloody lip when he sees Geralt again and his heart sings for there is a constipated look of worry about him when Toruviel shoves him roughly towards Roach, while he cradles his broken lute to his chest. It's a nice touch really, even when he´ll have to rip his remaining feathers out to buy a new one.Suddenly there is a hand on his back, just above his wings and he stiffens, but it's Filavandrel. A regretful look is plastered upon his face as he hands Jaskier a beautifully made elven piece, thrumming with enchantments. 

“I´m sorry about your lute. Please take this one as a replacement for the rough treatment you received,” he says. _Stay safe and don´t do anything stupid_ he doesn´t say. Jaskier nods and stumbles over to Geralt, both luttes cradled to his heart. He notices the smallest twitch of the Witchers fingers, as if he had stopped the impulse to steady him. Instead Geralt reaches into his saddlebags and pulls the coins he's been given for this job out, only to shove them into Filavandrals hands. “Make a new life,”, he grunts.

Jaskier can barely keep a gleeful smirk from his face. He is right about Geralt. It feels warm.

They trot down the mountain path with Jaskier strumming his beautiful new lute. There is already a melody forming in his mind, words coming to him in flashes. He is excited for this. Maybe the world hasn't lost its wonders just yet.


	2. Fall into the sea and forget your heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is your warning- this chapter contains suicidal thoughts and self-mutilation with help of others  
> But at the end it gets better if that helps
> 
> Enjoy!

He is feeling again. It's been a while and Jaskier wonders how he ever forgot his wonder at the beauty of nature (granted Geralt is currently topless and fishing for them). It's been 3 months and Geralt has not abandoned him yet. Not that he ever would. Jaskier suspect he even likes having company. Not that Geralt would ever admit that. He only grunts and if he forms an actual sentence, it's usually a jab against Jaskier. He doesn't feel welcomed, not exactly, but not like a total burden either, considering the rather integral part he has in their supper, both in and out of town. He thinks he might have become a ranger in a different life, had he not been such a clutz. Fortunately plants rarely bother to run when he approaches and his extensive knowledge on their nutritional value makes sure they don´t die of scurvy. Most important though, people like his new songs about heroics and heartbreak. “Toss a coin to your witcher” is about to become a hit, he can feel it. He performs his olds songs, the ones he hasn't sung in 7 years or more, the ones everybody already knows as the famous Julian Alfred Pankrazs´creation. They bring him joy again, and when he sees Geralt tipping his feet unconsciously along he falls in love with his own music again.

They´re on the road towards Oxenfurt and Jaskier can´t go there. He is 68 years old now, Julian Pankraz is supposedly 46 and he still looks like a youth, perhaps 21 at most. There are people that remember him in Oxenfurt. Too many of them, not taking into account that Arethuza is very close. Too close.  
So he makes up some story about going to visit a relative and fucks right off north. Sometimes he picks his battles. This is one of the times.   
He arrives at the coast, just far enough north of Oxenfurt two weeks later and is instantly rewarded with brigands trying to steal his, well, everything. He realizes he's become careless in the short time he's been with Geralt. And really he misses the stoic silence. It felt safe. Currently he has other problems though. Right.  
“Ah, uhm my friends, can I perhaps interest you in.. A song? “ He asks, knowing it won't work. His options are limited. He can't use physical force for lack of it. He can´t magic his way out of it unless he manages to get them to listen for him a little longer. Influencing the mind always works better the longer he talks to them. They seem however, entirely too interested in turning him silent forever. He wishes he hadn't been so careless. Wishes he was able to do magic other than illusions. He is however close to the beach… and he is by virtue of his heritage a natural swimmer.   
“No? No songs? Well, that surely is a shame.”  
Slowly, ever so slowly he inches in the direction of the ocean. He can hear the waves. It's only a question of reaching the water before they kill him.  
“Get him, boys!”  
Jaskier breaks into a dead sprint. Though he is not sure since when his will to remain among the living has returned, he is not willing to give up now. He waves an illusion of a second and third of himself which spring in other directions. With any luck the ones following the real him, won't be the fastest ones. He hears them curse but he´s nearly at the cliff. Hopefully his lute will survive the fall, let alone the saltwater. And his books... He really hates it when everything gets wet. Just when he is about to throw himself off the cliff, it's barely 5 meters and he can see where he´ll need to land so as not to hurt himself too much someone grabs his doublet from behind.  
He's too scared to turn around, but his assailant spares him the effort by shoving him to the ground and growling at him. “ What are you thinking, throwing yourself off a cliff?!” And thank all the gods. It's Geralt.  
Through heaving breath he managed to force out a “How?”. He's staying on the ground for the time being. It's nice here and he can't trust his wobbly legs right now.  
Geralt chooses not to answer the question at hand when the brigands break from the tree line, one of them scoffing. “He's found a friend. And it´s the Butcher of Blaviken, too.”  
Something changes in Geralt. Where just half a second before there had been a hint of worry, now there was cold, cold rage. “Hmn.”  
“I think there is still a bounty on your head Butcher. You won't mind if we cash in, right?”, their leader taunts. This is not going to end well. Not at all.  
“I advise you to leave,”, Geralt growls. This is a new register he's hitting, Jaskier has never heard before. There can´t be a logical explanation for his voice to be this deep.  
The brigants laugh. And really, they should know better than this. Nonetheless he can see that they feel safe in their numbers. There are 10 of them and only one of Gerald. Jaskier does not count himself, he's still heaving, trying to get his lungs and gills to cooperate. It hurts something terrible. As he contemplates how to help though, Gerald dispatches them. All of them. Jaskier wouldn't have noticed, his mind being in overdrive, if it wasn´t for Geralt roughly picking him up by the front of his shirt and glowering at him from only a few paces away.   
“What. Were. You. Thinking?”  
Each word a punch in his gut.  
“Well, considering certain death was immediately behind me I thought I´d take my chances with the sea. At least it was only almost certain death. But thank your a lot for the rescue. I really appreciate it. How was you visit in Oxenfurt? Kill any monsters?…” He is rambling. The proximity to Gerald is too much, and if he stops talking, stops finding new and mundane topics, he´ll do something very stupid like kiss Geralt. He is too close. He does his best to shift his focus away from the disappointment in Geralt's eyes, to the dead bodies.   
“Don't do that again.”  
“Yeah, sure. Ehm, do we take their belongings? Do we bury them? I really don't have any expertise on “what to do with your killer's bodies?” customs. I mean we could burn them, or throw them off the cliff, that would certainly be fastest. And a sea burial is very eco friendly as opposed to burning.” “Jaskier, shut up.”  
He takes a moment to take in Geralt's expression, stoic, still worried (not that anyone who isn't an expert in Geralt-ish would notice) and tired.  
Geralts takes a deep breath, shakes his head and looks at Jaskier again. The intensity is killing him. Could this man make it a little easier on him for like a second?  
“I throw them off the cliff. Then we go north. You rest until then.”  
And because Jaskier can't help himself, and because he's been keeping himself under control for too long already, his words slip out.  
“Aww, you do care! I knew you were my friend.”  
“I'm not your friend.”  
Aaaaand another punch in the gut. He should have known. He really should try not to fall in love. He should.   
_________________________________________________________________________________

It's nine years of them occasionally traveling together for months at a time, usually interrupted either by Geralt returning to Kaer Morhen for the winter or by Jaskier, trying not to meet old colleagues of his. It's funny really, because Gerald can't seem to notice that he is STILL in his early twenties by human standards. It's after one of his own disappearances, that he hunts Geralt down, because there is no good reason why he, Jaskier the bard, could possibly deny the queen of Cintras' request. to play at her daughter's betrothal party. So he'll need a bodyguard, or if he is being honest with himself, just Geralt's proximity, so he can feel at least a little safe in the den of the Lioness, who hates everything he is with her whole heart.

Geralt arrives in the inn after dealing with the Selkiemore, covered in its guts and really the smell is appalling. The funny thing is, he doesn't even seem to be surprised to find Jaskier here. He is surprised however by Jaskiers request. It's noticeable in the tiniest crease of his right eyebrow.   
Jaskier loves him. He's been fighting it for ages now and he is too tired. When Geralt scowls after being doused, he can't help but say ”Now, now, stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?” “I’m not your friend” Aaaand another punch in the gut. But it's been 9 years and Jaskier is prepared.  
“Oh. Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” And it works a charm   
” Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought. Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”, if she doesn't expose and kill him first, but that's what Geralt is for.  
“How many of these lords want to kill you?“  
And bless Geralt still following those carefully spread crumbs after all these years. Jaskier hasn´t so much as touched anyone since he started traveling with Geralt.  
“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” He is overdoing it, he knows, when Geralt scowls at him. ” Ooh, yeah, that face! Ohh! Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that. Ohh, on second thoughts… might wanna lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best. “ He is babbling, again. The sight of Geralt, sitting in the tub is nearly too much.  
“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men. “  
Jaskier can't help but roll his eyes. ”Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all of the time. Uhg. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?”   
He feels oddly brave for once, so he asks “Actually, I’ve always wanted to know, do witchers ever retire? “   
“Yeah. When they slow and get killed.”   
“Come on, you must want something for yourself once all this… monster hunting nonsense is over with”.  
“ I want nothing. “  
“Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.”   
“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”  
Jaskier stops all movement. His heart is breaking right here, yet again. He takes a deep breath, because he knew from the beginning that he can't have Geralt. He'd known.  
“And yet… here we are.”  
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

He finds Geralt again and again and again. None of them ever talk about the disastrous party and things are fine. Back to normal.  
It's one of those times, 7 years later, 15 years into his acquaintance (because “I´m not your friend” still is Geralt's catchphrase) with Geralt. The girls has turned 6 years old and Jaskier had gone to sing for her, tell her stories of her mother. Geralt still denies destiny, and for that he is cursed with insomnia.   
Jaskier remembers everything only hazy. The only thing that has burned itself inside the back of his head, is Geralt, fucking the crazy sorceress, mere minutes after the collapse of the building. It hurts. And he leaves, for the first time, for no other reason, but wanting to be alone. He hasn't wanted to be alone for some time now. He thought he had gotten better. 

He visits his auntie in Arethuza, tells her about the crazy sorceress and learns that she more than anything just wants the freedom to choose. That she doesn´t mind destroying herself in the process.  
He can relate to that in parts. 

This time it's Geralt who finds him, in a tavern far north, close to the blue mountains. They have barely talked when a man interrupts them. Tells them to come on a dragon hunt with them. He is a dragon himself, Jaskier can see the glamour, and is sure in return that the dragon sees him, so he doesn´t say a word. The journey up the mountain gives him hope once more. Because, yes he can't be Geralt's lover. But he is still his friend. Only then, not even that anymore.  
“If life would give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

Jaskier doesn't dare to breathe, for fear of breaking into sobs right there. Instead he says: “ Right. Um right. I´ll get the story from the others then.” He turns to leave, straining to keep it in, to protect what little there is left of him.  
“I'll see you around Geralt.”  
He won´t, but that's ok. He doesn´t need to know that.  
The urge to throw himself off the cliff is overwhelming. Instead he keeps it together. Only a little more, he tells himself. Only a little farther away from the source of all his pain, all his feelings really.   
Jaskier knows he shouldn't have hinged his recovery on the shoulders of the continent's most emotionally constipated man, still he never claimed to be smart.  
As he packs away his things, taking deep breaths (in out in out in out, don´t think, in out in out in out) he thinks that perhaps he deserves this. For lying. For being an annoying abomination. Geralt told him they were´not friends. Julian has been kidding himself all along. Because he is Julian again. He can feel it. Jaskier just died a horrific death, clawed open with words designed to make the most lethal damage.  
He thinks about leaving his lute, all of his stuff really, but he doesn't want Geralt to worry. He's been enough of a burden already.  
Weaving a glamour of indifference, he walks away. Borchs gaze stings in his back, the golden dragon not fooled for a second, but he doesn't care. He´ll honor Geralts wish, besides leaving is feeling terribly easy. Staying would have been the hard choice.

It takes him half a day to make it down the mountain.  
For a second he chuckles, his wings spread as he glides over the treetops. Who would have thought that he'd make a fine flying squirrel. Then his left wing catches on a treetop and he plummets face first into the ground. Yet again he swallows the pain, telling himself that this might as well happen. The pain of his broken wing hurts less than his heart anyway, but at least it keeps him focused. He continues on foot.  
Never during his journey does he encounter others, not having taken the actual path and choosing the opposite direction.  
It takes two days for his desperation powered strength to run out. He collapses in the middle of the wilderness, doesn't bother with any concealing glamour. If he gets killed by a wild beast or monster, at least he won't have to do it himself. He'd actually prefer that. His aunt would bring him back and kill him again if he does it himself. 

The next day comes and unfortunately he wakes up. He feels empty. So, so empty and numb. Not even tears will come. There is nothing left for him. Nobody loves him, much less likes him for himself. Worse, the only ever did like him out of a misplaced sense of obligation. But how could he blame them? He is a monster, least of all for his heritage. And he should have known after the djinn. Should have known he wasn't wanted, considering the way the djinn had decided to grant Geralts wish for peace. The witcher had been too kind to tell him. Too long-suffering and noble and patient. But even Geralt with his endless patience couldn´t bear Julian any longer.  
His biological parents had been the only ones who wanted him but if they'd known how he came out, they'd have abandoned him as well.  
His gills alert him with a sharp pang that it´s to long since he used them to breathe. Soon they'd get inflamed… Maybe he should try to live in the sea for a while. Maybe it´ll help him forget. Maybe a witcher hears about a monster and comes to end him. That would be nice too.

On his way to the coast, he passes a town with a seedy mage.   
Julian has lost all sense of self-preservation at this point, so he propositions the man to amputate his wings and keep them afterwards. The mage agrees.  
He is awake all through the process. It hurts more than he can process, but less than that day on the mountain he tries so hard not to think about. Instead he uses the pain as a crutch. Soon there is nothing but the pain in his mind and it feels a lot like freedom.

The stitches on his back are barely covered with gauze when he leaves the village and his lute behind. The coast isn't far. He can smell the sea already. Julian never considered whether his wounds would heal in saltwater, but he is going to find out anyway, if only because he hopes it´ll prolong the pain. It does. When he concentrates on it, he doesn't think of other things. He leaves his belongings save for Aunt Tissis suppression charm and one of his aunties feathers on the beach. It's not like he needs it anyway. A shiver runs over him and he realizes with a start, that he´ll never feel warm again. Of course, he´ll never die of hypothermia as long as the temperature is above freezing, but he likes feeling warm. Not that he deserves that anymore. He is a monster and as such he´ll live like one. Maybe he´ll be able to forget his humanity.

Time escapes him.

He's found a nice little underwater cave where he spends his days when he isn't hunting for fish. While he probably doesn't eat enough he doesn't care. Time escapes him. How long since he's seen the sun? His memories fail him. Why exactly is he only ever down here and never enjoys the sun? Sure, he is a monster, but monsters can enjoy the sun too. He finds himself a nice rock that breaks through the surface. Remembering that she shouldn't be seen he wraps a glamour around his shoulders for the off chance that he might bother someone on the beach in the distance with his presence. There is no one but better safe than sorry. Bathing in the sun he thinks that coughing up all that saltwater when he emerges for a longer time is worth it. The sun feels nice and warm.

Time escapes him.

He can´t remember his name anymore. He's sure he had one at some point. Perhaps it's time for a new one then. Time escapes him, as he ponders this on his rock. A sound wakes him from his reverie. There are for the first time ever people on the beach. Wrapping the glamour tight around himself he return to his cave. He doesn't want to bother them with his presence. Nobody. He is nobody. He doesn't remember and time escapes him. There is an old feather and a weathered amulet in his cave, in a little nook. They feel important. Comforting. Nobody takes them out and pulls them to his chest. Time escapes him. He is Nobody.

A storm rages above the water. Nobody sits on his stone watching the lightning dance about the clouds and waves. He is not afraid. It doesn't matter if Nobody dies.  
The thunder reminds him of percussions and for the first time in what feels like ages he has the urge to sing. The song tears at his heart. It's so sad. Nobody can´t remember why it feels so familiar. Why the longing and heartbreak remind him of yellow eyes. He remains until the storm clears and the sun comes out again. He feels fresher, calmer somehow. He is nobody, yet. An unwritten page. Time is beginning anew.

He sings more. He can´t remember the words but the melodies are burned inside his soul and who would need the words anyway. Maybe he needs a new name, he thinks. He is new and clean. Something fresh and unbothered. Something light. He is a new song.  
Days pass and Song remembers composing. It's harder when he can't write down anything, but he manages anyway. The waves are his background singers. The wind is his instrument. He wears the amulet and fastens the feather to it. It's summer and Song hasn't felt this light in years. His songs are not ready to be heard by anyone so he alway flees as soon as he sees the ships. There are more of them now. Warships. He remembers that. He also remembers that before he was Nobody he was somebody and that heartbreak was what made him run. It's in his songs. The words are slowly coming back to him. The new songs are just like the old songs full of longing, but still not quite finished. Perhaps he ought to remember more, but he loves his unfinished songs well enough. Sometimes he wonders if to remember would be worth it, for every time he closes his eyes in concentration and sees those yellow eyes there is a flash of hurt, betrayal and the worst agony he can fathom. So maybe it's better to be new, to just be Song.

Song spends less and less time in his cave, more in the sunlight and even goes as far as to venture to the beach a few times. The sun has been getting stronger steadily and his skin burns. It comes back to him then, that he wasn't meant for the sun, wasn´t made to dwell beneath it for to long. He's noticed other restrictions, like that he can't dive deeper than 20 meters before getting lightheaded, that his gills hurt when he stays out of the water for too long. Or that on rainy days he can feel the loss of his wings. His wings. Tissaia was going to kill him. Except, he sees her smile and kind blue eyes before himself and thinks, not no she won´t. She´ll lecture him, but ultimately she´ll be happy he is alive. Because she loves him.  
Oh.  
And suddenly it returns to him, full force. He's been in the water too long. He's run from himself for too long. Jaskier will remain dead but Julian, Julian needs to reassure his Aunt that he is alive and well. Write a letter to Filavandrel. Find out what year it is and also get a haircut and a shave. He is looking like a caveman.

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your writer~~  
>  oh, Reader of Fanfic~~~


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